


Linger

by thehonestman (orphan_account)



Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 09:29:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20618789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thehonestman
Summary: "Amen," Jackson echoes in his mind, because Jinyoung is his only prayer.





	Linger

It starts at work, innocently enough. 

At first, it’s just shoulders rubbing a bit too close together as they sit next to each other in meetings, hands lingering a bit too long after handshakes, spending a few too many coffee breaks together to be just coworkers. They don’t try to hide anything, because really, there’s nothing to hide.

At first, it’s Friday nights out at the bar with the rest of the coworkers, complaining about the boss and sharing anecdotes about life that keeps them close enough to spend time together, but enough of a barrier to be appropriate.

At first, they hold off. This Friday night is no different, until Jackson suggests Jinyoung come see his studio. 

“Right now?” Jinyoung asks, lips forming an intrigued smile, like he already knows he’s going to go. Turned away from the rest of the group sitting at the booth, Jackson has his full attention.

“Yeah. It’s cool.” And Jackson is turned his way too. Once again, a bit too close for coworkers, but still, nothing more. On his way out, Jinyoung offers one last look at the rest of the group over his right shoulder.

The studio is generally impressive, mostly because someone even having a studio room in their condo is generally impressive on its own.

“I don’t know much about music,” Jinyoung says, “but I know this is a massive waste of electricity.” He tilts his head up to the neon lights that line the edges of the ceiling where they meet the walls. Jackson watches as the lights shift from pale pink, to purple, to blue, to green in the reflection against Jinyoung’s cheeks. His eyes glow with color, and to Jackson, he looks like a cartoon character.

“It’s worth it,” Jackson laughs out, and Jinyoung comes back down to earth. He sits down at Jackson’s desk and lets his fingers glide along the keyboard before pressing down unceremoniously, disappointed to hear no noise come out. Before he can speak, Jackson places a large set of headphones on his ears, and Jinyoung smiles at him before pressing down on the keys again, smile widening like an easily-amused child as he reacts to the noise. Jackson watches intently as he pulls the headphones off and reaches out to touch the rest of his set-up: speakers, microphone, control panel, and he abruptly stands up.

“You were right. This is cool.”

“It should be. I spend a lot of time here.” Jinyoung rolls up his sleeves to his elbows and suddenly the child-like aura of wonder and interest is gone, now looking much, much older, and much more confident. If that were possible, that is, because the thing Jackson envies most about Jinyoung is his confidence. Living as if someone had prompted him for every situation he is going to encounter, Jinyoung is the image of calm, cool, and collected. Always on time, dressed immaculately, and never caught off guard by anything he gets thrown at him. It’s the natural pull that everyone feels toward him that makes Jackson nervous: a fear that is only assuaged by the natural pull Jinyoung seems to feel toward him as well.

“You have records?” Jinyoung asks, suddenly attached to a box of vinyls sitting in the corner of the room.

“I do, but I keep the record player in my room.” Jinyoung says nothing, just stares at him. “Do you want to play one?”

In Jackson’s room, Jinyoung sits on the edge of his bed holding the record casing and reading over the information on the back while Jackson sets up the record player and gets it playing.

“I don’t play this album often,” Jackson says, now laying flat on his back on the bed, sideways. The music is playing so loud, Jinyoung can only register that he spoke, but no words are clear in his mind. He turns around to face Jackson, who is propped up on his elbow, looking on at him.

“What was that?”

“I said I don’t play this album often. My mom gave it to me.” Jinyoung frowns at that, and Jackson falls back down onto the bed. Jinyoung, to the surprise of both of them, lays back then, so his head is leaning on Jackson’s torso. Jackson would be able to hear Jinyoung’s heart beating if the music weren’t so loud. He reaches down, puts a hand on Jinyoung’s chest, and that’s all it takes, because Jinyoung is suddenly on him.

Up, straddling, touching and kissing and moving, Jinyoung, to Jackson’s surprise, loses all sense of composure in bed. But after the initiation, Jackson is the one to take the lead. And he takes Jinyoung there in his bed, slow and hard, and dips in and out of awareness of Jinyoung’s panting, focusing on the music drifting over them.

In the middle of the night, Jackson wakes up, and Jinyoung is gone.

* * *

On Monday, Jinyoung is himself. Not at all stiff, but not any more welcoming or friendly to Jackson like he might have expected, does not try to share a secret smile between them as Jackson might have liked to. He operates with surprising tact, moving coolly through the office all day. Their shoulders still brush in their morning meeting, and their hands still linger after handshakes, but at one point, Jinyoung breezes past Jackson’s desk and gets coffee with another coworker. Jackson has no hard feelings, though, because Jinyoung still smiles at him and shakes his hand every day that week, even though something in his eyes registers as fear.

* * *

“Do you want to come see the new records I bought?” It’s a transparent excuse, but right now, coyness is not of the essence. Jinyoung stares at him from across the table, gaze cold, calculating, but in a way that only Jackson would be able to read. He has one leg crossed high over the other, one elbow leaning behind him, letting the lights of the bar catch on his cross necklace that rests between the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. To anyone else, he is the same self-possessed Jinyoung they all know him to be. To Jackson, however, he is prey.

“I’d love to,” Jinyoung says, words coming out like a question. He doesn’t make any move to get up, not even when Jackson pulls on his jacket. 

“You heading out?” One of their coworkers asks, and Jinyoung watches intently as Jackson smiles easily at them, explaining that yeah, he’s gotta be up early. Jinyoung uncrosses his legs and leans in subconsciously, flicking his head between Jackson and the others as they share some parting words and laughs. He’s surprised to see that Jackson actually leaves, alone, as if they hadn’t just made a plan.

“I should get going, too, I guess,” Jinyoung says when he regains his composure that was never really lost. No one questions him, because it’s easy to play follow the leader, and Jinyoung heads out the same way Jackson had gone. 

“Ready?” Jinyoung hears behind him, recognizing the smile in Jackson’s voice without even seeing him. He turns around and tosses a smile Jackson’s way, following him home with a friendly shove here and there.

At Jackson’s again, and Jinyoung is on him again, but not before some slight hesitation that Jackson cannot place. Will not place, in fact, because once again, Jinyoung is on him. It’s earlier in the night than last time, and they have more time to fill. So they take their time with each other, much more touching and much slower. No music this time, no voices to hide behind, the room shakes through the night with silence and sobs.

In the middle of the night, Jackson wakes up yet again, and this time Jinyoung is still there, but he’s not in bed. He’s kneeling in front of the window in Jackson’s bedroom, backlit by the moonlight, and everything about him just looks so _ soft._ Jackson takes in the soft messiness of his hair, the soft glow of his fair skin in the moonlight, the soft curve of his waist down to his legs, and right when Jackson is about to ask what he’s doing, he hears it. Jinyoung is whispering to himself, and when Jackson is finally able to make out the words, he realizes that Jinyoung is praying. And as he listens to him, images of Jinyoung from last night flash through his mind.

“My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.” _ Jinyoung taking off his clothes. _ “In choosing to do wrong, and failing to do good,” _ Jinyoung kissing his neck, _ “I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things.” _ Jinyoung kissing down his torso. _ “I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more,” _ Jinyoung on his knees, _ “and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.” _ Jinyoung naked on the bed. _ “Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us.” _ Jinyoung spreading his legs. _ “In his name,” _ Jinyoung taking Jackson in, _ “my God,” _ Jinyoung taking Jackson’s movements with care, _ “have mercy,” _ Jinyoung finishing, crying. _ “Amen.”

_Amen_, Jackson echoes in his mind, because Jinyoung is his only prayer. Before Jinyoung can get up, Jackson lays back silently in bed and goes back to sleep. 

When he wakes up again in the morning, Jinyoung is gone.

* * *

That following Monday at the office is a day of complete radio silence from Jinyoung, and so, in turn, for Jackson. They do not sit together in meetings, they do not shake hands, and they do not get coffee together. But Jackson, pragmatic in his methods, figures to give Jinyoung time to get his shit together. If the first time had been an accident, there was no excuse for the second, and Jackson can’t let it end like this, not without the push and pull, the fight he loves getting out of people. 

On Tuesday, Jinyoung seems even more resolute in his silence, still as poised as ever, as if he knows someone is watching him all the time. And Jackson is, and maybe Jinyoung knows. Because when Jackson shows up at Jinyoung’s desk and asks outright if he wants to get lunch, Jinyoung gives him an easy, friendly smile, and agrees like nothing’s wrong. But something is wrong, of course, and Jackson doesn’t let him go easily.

“Do you have a boyfriend or something? Is that it?” Jinyoung rolls his eyes in a devastating way.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re being weird to me ever since the weekend. The past two weekends.”

“Of course I don’t have a boyfriend, Jackson,” he shifts back to the first statement to avoid the second. “I’m not like that.”

“Like what? A cheater? I’d hope you wouldn’t be so nonchalant about admitting that.”

“I’m not gay.” Jackson takes a moment to rub his eyes and drop his hands down heavily onto the table between them. Jinyoung quirks a brow and eats with no worry.

“What?” Jinyoung just shrugs. 

“I’m not gay.”

“Jinyoung, we --” Someone walks into the kitchen, and Jinyoung follows them indifferently with his eyes, and Jackson’s eyes drop down in irritation, waiting for them to leave. When they do, Jackson breathes in heavily before resuming, leaning in even closer, pointing a finger repeatedly onto the table to emphasize his point. “Jinyoung, we slept together, okay? Twice. Now unless you can get your shit together and look at this like an adult, I’m not gonna --” Jinyoung cuts him off.

“You can’t do this to me right now. It was nothing, okay? I’m,” he runs his hand through his hair, looking around the room for some answers. He doesn’t seem to find any, but Jackson does see his resolve soften for the first time ever. And it’s fantastic. “I don’t know. I’m not in a good spot, I didn’t know what was going on.” He stands up. “I’m sorry, okay? I have to get back to work.” And then he’s gone.

* * *

Jinyoung does not go out for drinks that Friday. Or the Friday after that. What does happen, however, in those following weeks, is a surprising return to normalcy for the two of them. Back on their normal schedules, their shoulders brush again, their hands linger again, they drink coffee together again. And Jackson doesn’t quite get it, how Jinyoung could be facing such obvious inner turmoil but pretending like nothing is happening. But he figures it’s not quite his place, so he doesn’t pry, doesn’t beg. He just waits, because something is bound to break soon.

Outside of work, Jinyoung triples his time at church.

* * *

Three Fridays after the last time they had both gone out for drinks with the group, Jackson stops Jinyoung as he’s pulling his coat on. Hesitantly, because they’re friends again but the subject is still sensitive, Jackson asks if he’s planning on going out to get drinks this time.

“Actually, would you . . . want to get dinner instead?” Jinyoung asks. Jackson blinks. “Just. Dinner.” Jackson smiles. And Jinyoung smiles back.

“Let’s do it.”

Jinyoung, at dinner, is much more relaxed than Jackson has ever seen him, and is thereby more beautiful than Jackson has ever seen him. The usual firm-pressed, serious Jinyoung that Jackson sees is beautiful, but Jackson thinks there’s nothing quite like the Jinyoung who falls apart, in any way, and Jinyoung is so, so beautiful like this.

Thanks to their newfound reconnection, dinner is a reunion of best friends. The table between them has no space for silence, holds no grudges on either of their parts. 

“It’s weird to be out on Friday without everyone else,” Jackson comments, letting his gaze shift swiftly from Jinyoung to the rest of the establishment. “I’m not used to the quiet.”

“That’s because you live in the loud,” Jinyoung laughs.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re much more outgoing than I am. You’re crazy. And your music, you play your music so loud . . .” Jinyoung trails off at the thought of how he knows that, something he’s not ready to turn over in his head when he’s spent the entire dinner without it coming up.

“I guess you’re right,” Jackson laughs, kind enough to ignore Jinyoung's misstep. “That’s why we compliment each other well.”

“I guess you’re right,” Jinyoung parrots good-naturedly. He sighs as he brings his eyes back from a table with a family having dinner and back to Jackson’s face. And for the rest of the night Jackson watches as he does that, moves his eyes around the room, letting people see his grace, letting them watch him back as well. This is his MO, Jackson notes, and the rest of the night is a fun game of trying to keep Jinyoung’s attention on him the whole time. It’s not hard, because Jackson does a very good job of being everything Jinyoung wants, but for his own sake, cannot have.

At the end of the night, they both go home alone.

* * *

Dinners like these are more frequent, and suddenly they are hanging out a lot more outside of work. Jackson vaguely remembers Jinyoung saying that them hanging out so much and getting so close was natural, because they’re the youngests in the office, and it was pretty much bound to happen. That’s not really it though, because age does not excuse the glances and the touches and the indescribable air around them that even their coworkers know means to leave them alone. Hanging out at each other’s homes in the middle of the day on a weekend is a whole new ball game that was a natural progression from the status they’d established at work. But still, it’s easy to lose any cognizance of what, particularly, that status is when there’s nothing explicit going on between them. When they hang out, they don’t hook up or kiss or touch inappropriately; the only thing they have to go off of is tight hugs as opposed to handshakes for greetings, and hands lingering on lower backs, as if guiding one another, to where, neither knows, but guiding them nonetheless, as if where they are now is simply not the right place.

* * *

They stop going out to the bar with the others permanently after the third time Jinyoung goes back to Jackson’s place after drinking. That time, Jinyoung kisses Jackson and then suddenly they’re in bed, and Jackson is tired of this game and he’s worried about what happens after this. He’s not ready for the radio silence and then the slow rebuild in the office and he realizes that Jinyoung is being selfish and unfair, and hooking up is a bad idea in theory but good in practice. But they don’t even get to hooking up, because once they’re undressed and in Jackson’s bed and Jinyoung is straddling Jackson who is laying on his back, Jackson stops everything when Jinyoung traces the contours of Jackson’s upper body with his hands and starts to let tears drop. Unmistakably, this is a bad thing.

And so Jackson watches, remembers the softness of Jinyoung’s body when he had caught him praying in the middle of the night that night, and compares it to the softness of his touches now. Jackson’s hands on Jinyoung’s hips, his eyes on Jinyoung’s eyes, he takes in Jinyoung choking through sobs as he focuses on his fingertips gliding between his pecs, down and around the individual muscles of his abdomen, then up and lining along his collarbones for a long time, the same way his fingers had been gliding along his studio equipment all that time ago. Jackson watches the tears fall from his eyes and feels them on his body a second later, increasing in intensity as Jinyoung settles his hands on Jackson’s chest, and, with practiced delicacy and reservation, he lets his head hang between his shoulders as he cries.

Jackson thinks again about how beautiful it is to see Jinyoung fall apart, but pities him nonetheless, and pulls Jinyoung close to him so they’re laying down, chest to chest, quieting Jinyoung’s cries until they’re weak sniffles. And as Jackson falls asleep, he hears the low whispers begin: _ My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart . . . _

* * *

This game, Jackson finds, is tiring, and the mighty fall hard. At Jinyoung’s house one day, Jackson lounges on the couch, letting Jinyoung run his fingers through his hair and really, as tiring as it is, the desire Jinyoung seems to have for Jackson to be near to him is endearing. And admittedly, it fuels his ego. But more than anything, it is tiring. 

Jackson wants to _ talk_, and Jinyoung keeps his composure flawlessly, like he always does. Jackson hates to see it.

“I love you, you know,” Jackson says, face to face now. “I’m in love with you.”

“What do you want me to say to that?”

"Do you feel the same?”

“No, I told you. I don’t think of you like that.”

“But you do, though. I get it, you feel guilty, but you’re grown. No one’s going to persecute you.” Jackson wishes he could stop rambling, feels he’s losing his focus. He recalibrates. “I know you feel the same.”

“You need to get out.”

“Are you kidding me.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“_Jinyoung_.” 

“You can’t hate me for not loving you back.”

“You do love me, though, and you know it. Say it. Just say it once and I’ll leave.” 

“Jackson, I . . .” and Jinyoung’s resolve slips for the second time. “I can’t.”

“Can you at least admit that _this,_” he gestures wildly between them, “isn’t just platonic?” And Jinyoung is back to being on time, back to being dressed immaculately, back to being prepared for whatever is thrown at him. Back to being devastatingly confident when he stands up and holds his hand out for Jackson to take.

“Jackson.” Jinyoung smiles widely. “You’re my best friend.” All sign of distress gone from his face, like he just stepped out of a movie. Jackson shakes his hand and leaves before Jinyoung catches the sardonic smile on his face.

* * *

Jackson calls out of work for an entire week.

* * *

A few Sundays later, Jinyoung goes to church as usual and prays for himself, as usual. After mass has ended, he chats with a neighbor he runs into under the awning of the church’s exit, but gets distracted when he notices a familiar face up the street. As their eyes catch, Jinyoung denies an invite to the diner and heads toward Jackson.

“Do you want to come have breakfast?” Jackson asks. Jinyoung agrees, somewhat knowing where this could be going but somehow not fighting it. 

At Jackson’s house, Jinyoung sits outside at the table on the patio while Jackson cooks him breakfast, hyper-aware of Jinyoung watching him closely through the sliding glass door. He never spares him a glance, just takes his time cooking and brings the food out to Jinyoung.

“Wow,” Jinyoung says, noting the flowers set on the middle of the table. He eyes Jackson suspiciously as he doesn’t respond, just sits down across from him. They sit in silence and eat for a brief while, and the world glows around them in the morning light, tension only relieved by the sound of birds chirping.

“You know,” Jackson begins, knowing he has Jinyoung’s full attention, “I went on a date last night.” Jinyoung doesn’t react outwardly, cool and maintaining his normal motions of bringing a cup of coffee up to his lips, taking a sip and taking his time to put the mug back down before answering. 

“Really? That’s great.” He smiles.

“Yeah, it was. We went to dinner at Young's. Do you remember when we went there?” 

“Yeah, that was a nice place.”

“Then we went for drinks at the Tap House.” 

“I’ve been there. I like it.”

"Yeah. We went there together.”

“Yeah.” 

“And then I brought him back here,” Jackson says with no hesitation. And now Jinyoung is silent. “And I fucked him against the kitchen counter.” 

“Jackson,” a warning.

“Wasn’t like how I fucked you, though,” Jackson looks away, feigning casual. “It was too hard. He wasn’t as good. He was mad when he left because I didn’t let him stay over. But do you remember that?” He finally looks Jinyoung in the eyes, alight with rage and mirth. “When I fucked you in my bed?”

"Why are you doing this?” 

“Why are _ you_?” 

“I’m _not_ doing this,” Jinyoung stands up to leave. “You should be an adult about this. Why can’t you just accept that not everyone you love will love you back?” 

“Really? You think that’s what this is about?” And Jackson stands up too. “You think the biggest problem I have with you is that you ‘_don’t love me?'"_ Face to face with Jinyoung now, Jackson lowers his voice, slows his speech. “You’re a fucking _ coward_, Jinyoung. You’re so fucking pathetic,” Jackson is whispering now, and somehow, it’s so much scarier than it would be if he were yelling. He continues: “you’re too much of a pussy to say what this really is, so let me say it for you.” Jinyoung swallows. Jackson leans in closer. “You’re _ gay_, Jinyoung,” and Jinyoung’s heart races dangerously. “You live on your knees, in more ways than one. You’re so pretty, and so _feminine_," he teases. "I don’t know how your family doesn’t know. How have you kept it hidden, Jinyoung?” Jinyoung’s face is red, veins pulsing. “How have you kept it hidden that you’re a faggot?” And Jinyoung slaps him. Hard. Jackson scoffs.

“If this is your way of trying to get me to stay, you’re doing it wrong.” Jinyoung pulls on his jacket and is on his way back inside to leave, momentarily held back only by the small realization that he wants to stay, wants the pain, enjoys Jackson entertaining this game he’s playing with himself. 

“No. It’s not. Believe me. This is actually my way of saying goodbye.” 

“Great,” Jinyoung says, and he’s out the door. He doesn’t like his parting words, but there’s no going back now.

* * *

Two job changes, a wedding, and ten years later, Jackson and Jinyoung sit at the same bar where they used to get drinks on Friday nights with coworkers. 

“Jackson, are you ever going to stop treating me like a lover?” Jinyoung asks, swirling his finger around his glass and still obnoxiously composed. “Like I’m the one that got away or something?”

“Yes. I’m done with it now, really.” 

“Good, because sometimes, I think you never truly forgave me for not loving you back.” Jackson throws his head back in a laugh, then holds his glass out for a toast. To what, there’s no saying, but Jinyoung does not miss the way Jackson’s wedding band glistens under the bar lights. And Jinyoung smiles at him as he holds his drink out in one hand, and clutches his cross necklace in the other. 


End file.
